In the way that things like this often do,

The spot appeared one day

During the flood. 

 

It was overlooked for the most part, 

Because after all there was a flood, 

Which left hundreds of bewildered freshmen on mats on the track— 

A divine horror for orientation week. 

 

The hole itself is an enigma

With soft edges that turn soggy every rain

And a hole, as a result of the drenched plaster crumbling inward

Long drip marks signal the extent of the flow. 

 

If you were to touch it you would feel 

The silky touch of wet building materials

The alien bloom of mold on the interior

But few have dared. 

 

The hole has had a few visitors

Some physical plant workers, who measure it, inspect upstairs and deem it a major problem

And then leave abruptly

The spot remains unchanged.

 

Last week I got an email, 

“Work Order Complete”

The action line was left blank. 

 

And thus, the spot persists,

Perpetually damp and moldy, 

A health hazard? 

 

But we don’t like to talk about that, 

For the hole has become our compatriot

A benevolent charybdis

A constant in a dynamic world. 

 

Oh hole, 

What is our low rise without you? 

I fear we never shall know. 

 

About the Poet: 

Annika Shiffer-Delegard is a junior at Wesleyan University. She enjoys writing appliance poetry, ice skating, and exploring abandoned mental institutions. This poem was inspired by a recent experience in her low rise.

 

Annika Shiffer-Delegard can be reached at ashifferdele@wesleyan.edu